


Doing Alright

by lxvitate



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Dead!Freddie, Ghost Au!, I Don't Even Know, I'm Bad At Tagging, Multi, Queen - Freeform, brian and gang buy a house, freddie is bored, good company, haha get it?, he just wants company, medium!roger, not aids related, oh my god they were roommates, okay ill stop, spooky shit, where freddie is dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21802288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lxvitate/pseuds/lxvitate
Summary: Brian, John, and Roger decide to buy a house while they get through college because it's cheap. What they don't know is that over 30 years ago, in 1987, a young man was killed in the same house.Freddie has mixed feelings about them. He wants them to leave so he can live(ha!) in his house in peace, but he's been so lonely.Turns out, Roger is a medium, and has sworn to help Freddie figure out his killer's identity so he can rest in peace. He just needs to convince the others to help, even though they cant see him.
Relationships: Brian May & Freddie Mercury, Brian May & Roger Taylor, Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor, John Deacon & Brian May, John Deacon & Brian May & Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor, John Deacon & Freddie Mercury, John Deacon & Roger Taylor
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings, darlings! Welcome to this fic?? Snjsdhfjdnsd this is a mess-
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this impulsive decision to make this au at 12 am :')
> 
> Partial credit to @Myworldofgayfanfiction and their story It's A Kind Of Magic for the inspo. Their story is more focused on the BoRhap boys and their dads(with Rami and Freddie being dead) but it's also a ghost au so go check it out!

Freddie stretched and scratched at his stomach as he walked through the empty house. He let his eyes wander the huge interior and abundance of space. His stuff had been cleared out years ago, and the empty rooms bothered him greatly.

He sat at the piano and started to play a gentle tune, forcing his fingers to become corporeal so he could press the keys. His fingers danced along, his brain filling out lyrics he had been writing for years. He still had to name it though, and was leaning heavily towards Who Wants To Live Forever. He just...couldn't finish it.

A car door slammed shut outside, startling Freddie. He stopped playing and dropped his hands, looking out the big front window.

Three men walked up the walkway to the front doors, and Freddie passed through the piano to get a better look at the newcomers. They placed the key in the lock and swung open the door.

The three men walked into the house, dragging large luggage behind them. The tallest of them, a skinny man with dark brown curls that fell around his shoulders, placed his hands on his hips and breathed a breath of contentment.

"Well boys, here we are!" He smiled. "Let's pick out our rooms while we wait for the truck." He picked up his bag and started to climb the stairs, the other two men staying behind.

"Let me guess, he's going to want the biggest room." The short, blond one sighed. Freddie felt strange energy coming off of only him, and made a mental note to stay away from this particular man. The man beside him nodded tiredly. He picked up his bag and followed the tall man towards the rooms. Freddie stared at the blond one for a while, trying to figure out his energy. It sent chills up his already cold body. The man bent over to pick up his bag, and froze.

He glanced at the area where Freddie was, and made eye contact.

In a second, Freddie panicked. He flashed away to another room, hiding behind a wall. He breathed heavily through his nose for a moment, hearing faint rustling sounds and the creak of the stairs. He waited for a few minutes longer before walking back to the main room.

 _'What was that?'_ He wondered, fearing he may be going mad. Did he _see_ him? How was that possible?

He stood in the foyer for several seconds, his mind racing. He shook it off, and walked up the stairs.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger meets Freddie, and...it does not go so well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go again bois. I'll be honest, I don't know what I'm doing, I'm just winging it.

Roger hated everything about the house.

They had taken a look around the house several days before moving in, and he felt nothing but chills racing up and down his arms the entire time. Brian and John thought the house was elegant and perfect, but it gave Roger a weird feeling that he couldn't explain.

They had walked through the door to their new home, dropping their baggage in the doorway. Brian paused, placing his hands on his hips.

"Well boys, here we are!" He breathed, turning back to the men. "Let's pick out our rooms while we wait for the truck." He grabbed his bag and walked up the large winding staircase.

Roger felt uneasy about it all, but pushed it down. "Let me guess, he's going to want to biggest room." John nodded and picked up his bag, following Brian upstairs.

Roger stood in the foyer for a moment, taking multiple deep breaths. He was fine. Nothing was wrong, he was just being silly. He bent down to pick up his own bag, and froze.

An ominous figure stood in the opening between the foyer and what Roger assumed was supposed to be the dining room. He was only looking out of the corner of his eye, but saw a bright yellow and white blob.

He whipped his head around and looked, meeting two bloodshot, glossy brown eyes.

In an instant, those eyes were gone, along with the whole figure, or what he _thought_ was a figure. Roger couldn't be sure, as he only looked at the thing for a second. Maybe it was a weird trick of the light. Yes, that's it.

He slowly grabbed his bag, moving over to the stairs and beginning his ascent to his room. He kept trying to force the knot in his stomach to untangle, telling himself that it was fine. It was nothing. It was _okay._

He walked into his empty room, putting the bag down. He took a look around the medium-sized space, sighing and running his hand through his hair. He walked over to the window and glanced at the pool, feeling the strange energies increase as he drew near. He wanted out, at least for a little while.

Roger turned around and headed to Brian, preparing to complain to him about needing food, as an excuse. He raised his arms over his head in a stretch as he walked across the smooth carpet, seeing Brian packing his clothes in a dresser that the previous owners had left behind.

"Brian!" He shouted, his raspy voice bouncing off the bare walls. "I'm fucking starving, mate. Let's get some food." Brian stopped in his organizing to stare at the shorter man. He closed the drawer, and grabbed his phone from the top.

"Well, I suppose we could order Chinese while we settle in. What do you want?" He called for John, pulling up his keypad to make the call. Roger cursed under his breath. Damn, he was hoping to get out of the house.

"You can never go wrong with chow mein, darling." A voice that was not Brian nor John spoke. Roger's head snapped up.

The same bleary brown eyes caught his, but this time they didn't disappear, and Roger got a clearer sense of who it was he saw.

The figure was a man, maybe late 30s, dressed in a baggy yellow sweatshirt and white pants. His black hair was cut close, and a dark moustache adorned his upper lips in a fashion that reminded the blond of the 80s. The upper half of his body was drenched in what appeared to be water, but the man, or whatever he was, didn't seem to be fazed by it. His eyes were bloodshot and empty, lifeless. He stood about five feet from the rest of the gang, as Roger made his way over carefully. It seemed all of his bad feelings were on to something.

"Food'll be here in about half an hour. John and I are going down to check out the other floors. Are you coming?" Brian called, looking at his friend curiously. Roger hesitated before shaking his head. He had to figure out what the hell was going on. The two boys shrugged at each other and headed out of the room, Roger checking behind to make sure they were out of earshot. He whirled around and stared at the mysterious figure.

"Who... _What_...Are you?" He asked nervously. He didn't want to have to move. Despite his bad feelings, he actually liked the house. The man took a step back in surprise.

"You can see me?" He asked, water flowing from the space between his lips. Roger's eyes widened and he nodded slowly.

"Yeah? I can hear you too." The man took another small step away, parts of him disappearing into the wall. "I'm a medium. I can communicate with the dead." He added, trying not to scare him off.

The man's expression turned from fear into curiosity. He didnt move, but he no longer looked scared.

"Roger Taylor." Roger offered, smiling slightly. His uneasiness was still strong, but he went against his better judgment. The man seemed to weigh the options before sighing.

"Freddie Mercury. I uh, I used to live here." Water kept coming from his mouth, yet it never hit the floor, nor did Freddie seem to notice.

Roger furrowed his brows. The man was definitely not from the current era. His hair and moustache were reminiscent of the 80s. "When?"

Freddie laughed. "What, when I died? '87, my dear." Roger nodded, and noticed that Freddie had moved closer to him.

He bit his lip and debated on whether or not to bring a certain topic up.

"So, Freddie..." He swallowed thickly. "What happened? How did you die?"

Freddie's demeanor suddenly changed, his already dark eyes getting darker. He clenched his fists and backed further away.

"None of your business." He hissed, and in another blue flash, he disappeared, leaving Roger alone with more questions than answers.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys try to eat their food in peace. Roger makes a realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, I'm not sure where this is gonna end up going, but uhhhh,,, let's get this bread ansfkhasdf

The moving truck came earlier than they thought, and the boys had to pause their consumption of their Japanese meals to go officially move.

Freddie stood by the door in the foyer, flashing to the opposite rooms whenever he saw Roger near him. The blond noticed this and, while wanting to confront the ghost about his childishness, ignored it. He was far too busy moving heavy furniture onto the living room.

The boys all helped each other move the mattresses upstairs, and Freddie watched from the floor intently. He didn't want them there at all, and it was clear to him that they were in the house for the long haul. The sour look he wore never wavered as the men moved in and out of the house with other strange people, pointing at empty areas and filling it up with pointless shit.

Roger walked over to Freddie, and the ghost tensed.

"What do you want." He hissed, moving away when Roger would step closer. "Leave me alone. Go hang out with your friends. Or if you want to be of use to me, move out." Roger was taken aback by how aggressive Freddie was being.

"Hey. Look, I'm sorry about the question. I shouldn't have asked it, I was just curious." Freddie made no move, keeping his lifeless eyes trained on the two other men, who had slowed down their unpacking and started moving toward them.

"Roger? You okay, mate?" The curly-haired man--Brian, Freddie remembers him being called--asked, raising a brow. Roger nodded and smiled softly. "Alright then, come join us in the kitchen again." He nodded once again and Brian walked away, leaving the medium and the ghost alone.

"Why do you want us to leave, Freddie?" Roger turned back to him, brows drawn in. "We haven't done anything to you." Freddie clenched his jaw and broke eye contact, choosing the same spot on the wall to stare at. He moved further away from the blond, and pressed his blue lips together. He flashed away, leaving Roger alone in the foyer.

He reappeared at the top of the stairs, out of sight and on the balcony overlooking the area, watching the man slowly walk into the kitchen to join his companions. He went back down the stairs and peeked around the corner, moving to pass through the wall that Roger's back was turned to.

"So here's the plan for tomorrow. John's got to work at 9, and I've got a class at 11. You should go to the store and get some food for the week. Oh! And whatever else you wanna decorate the place with. It's pretty big so we've got lots of space." Brian explained, waving around his chopsticks and pointing at Roger. He was polite enough to swallow before talking, so his food wasn't sprayed all over the place. So, Freddie would be alone during most of the day, he could do with that.

The blond seemed to consider it, even though it was clear that there was no choice. Freddie made a mental note that Brian seemed to be the undeclared leader of the bunch. He hadn't heard John speak yet, but his general vibe was very calm and positive. Freddie knew he'd have no issues with him. 

"Sure. When are you guys done?" He asked and, in contrast to Brian, kept stuffing his face, talking with his mouth full. The two other men, along with Freddie watching from the corner, morphed their faces into disgust. Brian shook his head, his curls whipping around with his movements.

"John will be done around 8. I'll be done my class at 12:30, but I have a lunch date with Anita right after, so I won't be home until...2 or 2:30." Roger opened his mouth to protest, but decided not to argue, further proving the ghost's hypothesis.

Brian stood up and dumped his empty styrofoam container into a silver bin that opened automatically. He quickly washed his hands and came back to the kitchen island, resting on his forearms.

"Serious talk gentlemen. Has anyone noticed anything weird around the house?" Freddie stiffened and Roger choked on his noodles. "I mean, it's really cold, for August. But it's only in the house, when I step outside the air is really nice! I don't know, something just seems off. I've got a weird feeling. Especially when that woman sold us the house. She looked extremely worn out, like a billion other people lived here and didn't stay very long." Roger cleared his throat, having been hacking through Brian's entire explanation.

"Maybe the AC is on the fritz?" He suggested, though he couldn't quite mask the worry in his voice. "And that bag was like, 80 years old! She just looks naturally worn out. You're anxious about moving in, that's all." The taller man did not look convinced, and narrowed his eyes. John raised his chopsticks and pointed at Brian.

"Roger could surprisingly be right about the AC," the blond growled. "But I did read up on the place before we bought it. Apparently, this house hasn't had a long-time owner since the 80s. Some guy named Farrokh Bulsara owned the place, but he disappeared in 1987. The only explanation I can find is that he skipped town. Just...completely abandoned the place. Everything he had was still here, so he must've left in a hurry." John shovelled the rest of his meal into his mouth and chucked the container away.

Freddie swallowed thickly, though there was nothing to swallow but emptiness. Disappeared, so that's what the story was. His poor parents must have looked for him everywhere with the hope that he would be alive and safe. He ran his pale blue hands up and down his arms in a comforting manner, mind racing.

"What? No trace of him anywhere?" Roger whispered, mind coming to the conclusion that Farrokh must have been Freddie. "Like, he just vanished?" John shrugged.

"Apparently. The man was an adventurist. Loved to travel. The theory is that he ran away from home and is just...living his best life in like, the Bahamas, or something." He leaned his back against the counter, a stoked his hand down his chin.

"What are you thinking, Deaks?" Brian asked, arms coming up to cross in front of himself.

"It's odd, that's all. Why would a man leave absolutely everything he owned and never come back for it? The weirdest part is that all 10 of his cats were found in his home, just...abandoned. As Roger said, it's like he vanished into thin air." Roger was the last to throw away his container, and walked to the can, throwing it in.

He turned around and his eyes once again met Freddie's, who instinctually backed up. His lower body was inside the countertop, and his right arm phased through the wall at an angle.

The blond studied the ghost more closely. His hair was wet and still dripping, along with his eyelashes and jaw. His eyes were bloodshot and irritated, as if they had been opened or submerged in something when he died. The collar of his yellow sweater was a darker shade, flowing away from his collar like liquid.

Then it hit him.

The water. The bloodshot eyes. The waterfall that seemed to endlessly flow from his mouth. The strange disappearance.

He was _drowned_.

"Roger? What are you looking at...?" Brian questioned, placing his hand on his shoulder. He instantly snapped out of the trance to realize Freddie was still staring at him, only now he looked like he held some kind of defeat in his eyes. Like he knew his 'secret' was out.

"What if..." Roger started, not taking his eyes off the ghost. "What if he was killed?"


End file.
